One Time Too Many
by Lena7142
Summary: Casey doesn't lose, and he won't lose this... (deathfic)


**Title:** One Time Too Many

**Author:** Lena7142

**Genre:** Tragedy, Angst

**Warnings:** Deathfic

**A/N:** Thanks to Faye Dartmouth for the beta!

* * *

One Time Too Many

* * *

Casey's sprinting full out; he's halfway across the courtyard when the gunshot rings out, reverberating off the stone walls with a deafening echo.

His heart skips a beat and he nearly misses a step, staggering slightly as he catches himself. Casey isn't hit; but he has a fairly good idea who has been.

He just hopes he's wrong.

-o-

Billy talks. It's what he does; he spins words and falsehoods and half-truths to trick people into liking him and into doing what he wants.

But sometimes words are insufficient. Some things he can't talk his way out of.

And sometimes, he can't talk at all.

The pain in his chest steals his breath away and stops his words. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that passes his lips is a ragged gasp.

The world tilts and blurs and Billy hits the ground hard, a muffled thud the only sound he makes.

-o-

The mark is gone when Casey gets there. His first instinct is to give chase; to hunt the man down.

But one look at Billy and Casey's instincts get all intertwined, leaving him briefly paralyzed.

The mark is slipping away.

But then, Billy might be too.

The blood is dark and glistening, soaking the fabric of Billy's vest and beginning to pool beneath him. Casey's heart beats faster as he falls to his knees, immediately pressing down on the wound with his bare hands and ignoring the sickening feeling of the blood welling up between his fingers.

"Collins?" he says, applying more pressure. "Billy, can you hear me?"

Billy flinches and groans beneath him. After a moment, his eyes open a bit. "Casey?" he says, voice just above a whisper.

Casey nods encouragingly; it's not his default setting, but if Billy's conscious and with it enough to recognize him, there's hope. "Yeah. Just hang on, we'll get you outta here, okay?"

Billy draws a tremulous breath. His face is white and the blood isn't stopping, even with Casey trying to hold it in, but Casey isn't going to give up hope.

He isn't.

-o-

Michael and Rick arrive a few moments later. They could only have been a minute behind Casey, given their proximity, but his sense of time is distorted and it feels like he's been crouching over Billy for far longer.

Too long.

Billy's breathing is coming raggedly now, and the pool of blood just keeps growing. Casey presses down on the wound with all his weight and Billy whimpers, writhing weakly. "Hurts," he croaks, eyes bright with tears.

"Call for help," Casey says, and Rick immediately rushes off.

Michael drops to the floor and settles himself so he can cradle Billy's head. "Hang in there," he coaxes, though his face is nearly as white as Billy's.

Billy blinks up at him. "M' sorry... got away..."

Michael shakes his head. "We'll get him next time, okay?"

Billy's eyes start drifting shut. "Sorry..."

"Hey," Michael says, giving him a shake. "Stay with us, okay?"

Billy makes a faint noise of protest, brows knitting in pain. He's sweating, which makes sense given the Syrian heat, but his skin is clammy and cool to the touch.

Casey's chest tightens. "Come on, Collins," he growls, trying to disregard the way his throat is constricting.

Billy's eyelids flutter. "C'sey?" he slurs. Under Casey's touch, he's trembling.

"Right here," Casey confirms. "And not letting you go anywhere, okay?"

He sees Michael turn, then looks up to see Rick reappear in the doorway. His relief is short-lived, however. The kid looks on the verge of tears, and as he makes eye contact with Michael, he gives his head a small shake.

Casey refuses to acknowledge that shake. Refuses to accept what it means.

That help isn't coming.

Because it has to come.

"It's okay," Billy whispers, and when Casey looks down, Billy is looking right at him.

Casey shakes his head. Casey's success rate can largely be attributed to his flat-out refusal to accept failure. His refusal to lose.

Casey doesn't lose.

And he won't lose this.

But Billy's face is gray and when he smiles weakly, the trembling abates and his body relaxes. "S'okay," he repeats, closing his eyes; then he exhales with a rattling breath that leaves him still.

Casey holds his breath. "Billy?"

There's nothing.

Michael reaches down and presses two fingers to Billy's throat. When he looks up at Casey, he inhales and the grim expression on his face says it all.

And Casey _refuses_.

-o-

He moves into place without thinking. Billy isn't breathing and Billy doesn't have a pulse, but Casey isn't giving up on him. He starts compressions, placing the heel of his hand against Billy's sternum and pushing down, hard enough to depress his chest and simulate a heartbeat. He counts under his breath, keeping up a steady clip.

Michael hesitates, then leans down and pinches Billy's nose shut, tilting his head to open his airway and administering a breath.

It's too much for Rick, who make a small, strangled noise and vanishes from the doorway. Part of Casey wants to be angry with him, but that would take energy he just can't spare.

So he keeps pressing.

-o-

He counts.

He presses.

He counts again.

He's not sure how many cycles they've gone through now. His shoulders ache and his arms feel like jelly. Sweat drips down his temples. He's sore and on the brink of exhaustion, but he won't stop. Can't stop.

-o-

He reaches fifteen compressions again, and he pauses briefly for Michael to administer a breath.

But Michael doesn't.

Casey pushes down five more times, thinking maybe one of them simply lost count.

Michael hangs his head.

"Michael," Casey growls breathlessly.

And Michael looks up at him, eyes rimmed with red. "Casey..."

He's giving up.

Casey makes an inarticulate sound of frustration and continues with the compressions. If Billy's heart won't beat on its own, then Casey will just have to do it for him. They're teammates, after all, and Casey _won't _let Billy die.

"Casey..." There's a hand at his shoulder, trying to pull him away. "Casey, he's... he's gone."

Casey curses and takes a swing at him, but his arms are weak and he misses by a mile. He nearly loses his balance trying to get back in position to resume the compressions...

"Casey!" Michael repeats, voice cracking. "You need to stop."

"I'm not going to leave him to die!" Casey snarls.

"He's already _dead_, Malick!" Michael all but screams at him. "He's dead..."

"_No!_ Stop _saying _that..."

"He's dead," Michel says again, and there's an awful hollowness to it.

Casey finally looks down. Billy is gray and motionless; the only color is the blood pooling around him. More blood than a body can afford to lose.

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't make a bad joke, or wink. He doesn't even offer gentle absolutions.

Because Billy's _gone._

The realization hits Casey with crushing force. He can deny it and he can fight it and he can delude himself and keep pretending that he has the capacity to stave off the inevitable, but it doesn't change the truth that Billy is lying dead on the ground and there's no medical help, no measures that will bring him back. It's too late.

It's too late.

Casey hangs his head and finally lets the sob that's been building in his chest this whole time break free.

-o-

They take Billy's body home. He's given a funeral with full honors, but the casket is empty. Instead, the ODS flies out to the UK and scatters the illicit ashes on a hill overlooking Edinburgh.

It's what Billy would have wanted, Michael says.

Casey thinks that what Billy would have wanted was to not be dead.

-o-

Eventually, they go back to work. Rick is quieter now. Michael is colder. Higgins' aide keeps leaving files of new applicants in their office, which continue to end up mysteriously in the wastebin.

And Casey trains.

He runs faster. He works harder. He pushes his body to his limits.

Because Casey has failed once. And that's one time too many.


End file.
